You'll Call me Doctor
by kitkaht
Summary: A young Victor contemplates and scours his chemistry textbook. Victor-centric


_You'll Call me Doctor_

There was no sound but the quiet flicking of pages and the loud, incessant knocking, that the scrawny boy managed to block out.

"Victor!"

The dark haired boy sat on his simple bed as he turned the page. Ethanol was uninteresting, for all of it's various uses and easy manufacturing. He was sick of Alcohols, they were predictable and boring. Not even the more complex of them, such as cholesterol or Ethylene Glycol could hold his interest anymore. Ethers seemed like a slightly more entertaining subject, but they were still very similar. What he wanted to get to were the more engaging chemicals formulas. Radicals in particular seemed a promising subject.

"Victor! Open the door!"

Sadly there was nothing substantial on the unstable equations to be found in the Grade twelve chemistry text book, which was truly a shame. He didn't want to trust the internet on such things, it would only be likely to lead him to uninteresting pages on how to boil bleach or blow up a high school. Temping though the idea of doing away with the hellhole was, he only wanted to know more about such things for academic purposes, and didn't need his parents checking their one computer's website history and seeing 'how to build a bomb'.

"Victor if you don't open this door I swear I'm going to break it down!"

Ignoring the threat he turned the page again. Boring. Perhaps he could convince the school to advance him further, he was getting phenomenally high marks as it was. Not to mention being a fourteen year old eleventh grader was proof enough he wasn't average. What would one more grade hurt? He'd already memorized all the grade twelve material anyways. All he really wanted was university.

"That's it, I'm getting Dad!" The frail boy looked up at the threat weighing whether it would be worth risking his always tired and irritable Father's wrath in order to be undisturbed, and undiscovered, a while longer. Deciding it wasn't worth it, and he'd been distracted at this point anyways, the boy walked to the door and unlocked the deadbolt. Almost immediately it flew open to reveal his older sister glaring at him.

"Took you long enough!" The snapped words conveyed her displeasure at the lack of response, "Dinner's ready and I…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at his bruised face, "What happened?"

His voice was cold and calculated as he answered and he looked straight into his sister's similarly dark eyes, "I fell."

Vanessa put her hands on her hips and frowned, obviously over the shock of her brother's battered face. Why it even shocked her anymore, he wasn't sure, she should be more surprised if she saw him without the evidence of his classmate's idiocy written (sometimes literally) all over his body. "Keep telling me lies like that and I'll beat you even harder than those brats did. Idiots, just because you've got twenty times the brains they do…" The girl shook her head, "I'll get you some ice and bring dinner to your room. Don't let Mom see you or she'll have a fit. Shoo" The dark haired girl made motions with her hands for him to go back into his room, to which he replied with a grumbled thanks.

He went back to his chemistry textbook quietly. While he held affections for his family, what he supposed would be classified as Familial love, he just wasn't up for interacting much with them. His sister Vanessa was out of school and worked a dead end job, even though Victor knew she could do better. His Mother similarly was a secretary for a dying company and his Father worked as a tradesman, an unsteady and draining job. He just couldn't understand them, how they could settle for such a thing. But then he understood little about his family, which was why interacting with them was a confusing experience. Still, he mused, they could be a good help if needed.

An hour later his spaghetti lay untouched on his bedside table, beside a slowly melting ice package; which he supposed would come in handy in order to reduce the swelling and discourage any further color changes, when he was going to bed. Then they wouldn't call him rainbow face (after all his face was all the colors of the rainbow when he got beaten, or so they said). Just Victoria, or geekzilla or any of the other not even remotely creative nicknames they had given to him, pathetic enough to make him want to be the one laughing. Except it wasn't quite as funny when he was about to get a black eye or two.

It was fine though. The beatings hardly even hurt anymore, especially since he'd started growing his own Aloe Vera plant (his parents had just been glad he was taking an interest in something other than science and math and so didn't pry as to why he suddenly decided to get one). Their idiotic names meant nothing to him. They were stupid, and he'd prove it to them all. They could call him Victoria all they wanted, one day they'd address him as Dr. Niguel.

While they wasted their youth desperately trying to pay tuition, he'd be living it up with Universities tripping over themselves to offer him the best scholarship. While they spent their lives at some meaningless, nameless job asking if he wanted fries with that he would be more then they were and more than they could be. And his paycheck would have more zeros than they had brain cells.

They were all idiots.

He smiled as he came to a page describing how to calculate theoretical and actual yield. He didn't even notice the knocking on his door, or the exasperated _"Victor!"_s.

* * *

A/N - Oh Vikky you nerdy nerdy nerd. Theoretical Yeild makes you happy?

Once again I implore you not to take this too seriously. It's been gathering digital dust on my desktop for about three months now and a friend urged me to put it up. This is just one look at what life COULD have been like for Vikky as a teen. I have many theories. I want to write them all but I am far too lazy and would bore you all to death (like I am with this too long A/N. Why are my A/N always too long?)

I always fancied him having siblings. At least an older sibling, and maybe a younger one too. I don't know why. The idea of Vikky having some huge family that absolutely adores him and that he blows off because he's completely anti-social (but he loves them in his own I-don't-understand-the-irrational-feeling-of-affection-but-ok kind of way) just makes me happy.

I don't really like a lot of this, so take it with a grain of salt. Or a packet. Or a salt shaker. Or one of those packages with the salt for the roads.

I'm going to stop now...


End file.
